Motivations and Inspirations
by Naidoo
Summary: Steph needs to get in shape for all sort of reasons but mainly to keep up with her FTAs and Joyce Barnardt. Ranger might just know the right kind of motivation.


_A/N: I'm not entirly sure where all these oneshot ideas come from but well... since my muse has been more or less dead for almost two years I take it and run with it. This technically has potential for a second chapter - or a third. But since I right now have like half a dozen ideas and unfinished oneshots it will have to wait. And I won't make any promises. :)_

 _Reviews are the best food for my muse. And she's always very hungry :)_

 _For simplicity sake let's just assume Morelli is out of the picture - or was never in it. Whatever floats your boat!_

* * *

Ok, time to admit, my life sucked. I sucked.

I was standing in the middle of the street, catching my breath, hoping not to die anytime soon and watching Joyce Barnardt taking off after my FTA. I had managed to chase him for about two blocks before my lungs decided this was not their idea of fun. So, ok, my condition sucked. But it was ok. I'd get my FTA some other time. Tomorrow maybe. Just when I was having that thought I saw Barnardt run past me, looking like she could do this for another few miles without any bother.

Much later – after I had to witness how she brought him down and catch him – I found out Vinnie had once again assigned me to an FTA that he handed over to Joyce when I wasn't working quick enough for his liking. I hated when he did that. It was bad seeing Joyce every once in a while at the office, but having to compete with her when bringing in my FTA's plainly sucked.

"Bad day?" Ranger simply asked when I let myself fall into one of the chairs opposite of his desk.

"I hate my life," I simply started, throwing my head back and admiring the ceiling.

"One of those days, Babe?"

"You could say that. I think I'm the worst bounty hunter out there. How do I even manage to catch one FTA?" I asked, stopping to stare at the ceiling and brining my attention to him.

"On some days I ask myself the same question," I heard him tease me. He picked the worst moment possible.

"This isn't funny," I said, trying to look stern and knew I failed the moment I looked at Ranger's face. He was smiling – sort of, in his Ranger-smile-kind of way.

"Look, we both know sooner or later you'd have made that apprehension. You would have gotten your man. We both don't know how you manage, but you always get your men sooner or later, Babe," he said and I couldn't but wonder whether he was talking about more than FTAs.

"Yeah, but this time it was… different. Joyce fucking Barnhardt ran past me, looking like it was no big deal. And she got my FTA. _Mine_. That were my two grand. I hate Vinnie for doing this to me."

I noticed Ranger's head coming up from whatever he had been looking up a few seconds earlier. The thing was…. Ranger never cursed. Hell, he barely raised his voice. When he did, you knew you were in deep shit. Hard for me to imagine what would need to happen for him to curse.

I on the other hand… well, it wasn't as if I never cursed, but it was rare. So him hearing me curse must have told him how annoyed I was.

"Why do I get the feeling the issue is not with FTAs and running after them, but more like with Joyce Barnardt?"

I choose to not say anything now. Mainly because I didn't want to think about that right now. He seemed to notice since he kept talking.

"How about you… change something. Like start running," he suggested. As if it was that simple.

"I hate running. For you it is a necessity on some way. And I know it might come in handy to be able to chase after a bad guy by foot, but…. I ….ok, I'm lazy. I just don't see the point. Most of my shoes aren't made for running after FTA's for several blocks anyway."

"Is that your best excuse? Your shoes?" he asked and yeah, he was right, it was a dumb excuse.

"I… it is just cold and outside and wet or hot and humid and embarrassing. And boring. And afterward you feel like you want to crawl into bed and die, or at least never leave your bed."

"Yeah, but imagine all the possibilities…," Ranger started and I didn't even let him finish.

"Yeah. I do," I cut in. "Me puking behind Mrs. Finkelstein's rose bushes or on some pavement or behind some bar along the way. Me collapsing out of dehydration or weakness. Dying. All these possibilities, sheesh."

"Babe," he said again and I could hear the humor in his voice. "I meant _afterwards_ "

"You mean when I crawl in bed, hoping to die? Do I need to remind you of the last few times you tried to convince me running was great? How I almost ruined your shoes when dry-heaving out of exhaustion? Or when I actually threw up when you first had that great idea a few years ago. Yeah, that was fun."

"Last time I wasn't aware I needed to find something to motivate you," he simply said and I couldn't help but wanting to slap that grin from his face.

"What motivation?" I asked suspiciously, eyeing him closely.

"Meet me at 5 am and find out," he said, almost winking. At least I think he could have winked. Realizing what he just said I let out a groan. 5 am? I know that was Ranger's normal time to get up, for me it was like the middle of the freaking night.

"Ok, let's say 6 am, just because I have a weak spot for you," he said, seeing my head snap up, looking at him hopeful, so he added "Not so weak that you'd get out of this easy."

"Alright, 6 am at my place," I agreed, knowing full well I'd hate myself come tomorrow morning.

When my alarm went off at 5.30 am I would have loved nothing more than throwing it against the wall and going back to sleep. But sleep was not an option. Ranger probably would make sure I'd be up and going. The question only was _how._ And somehow I didn't really wanted to know the _how._

By 6 am I was downstairs, thinking about plans on how to get back to bed. Maybe if I'd just took Ranger with me and – where did that thought just come from? Though thinking about it that actually might work. He had been pretty clear on what he wanted in regards of me, so maybe that was a way of getting out of this.

"Whatever it is your thinking, forget about it," I heard his voice and saw him coming out of a shadow a moment later. He was in usual Ranger-attire. Black. His running shoes, his sweatpants, his shirt – it all was black. I on the other hand was all over the place. Pink sweats, white trainers, yellow shirt. Perfect match.

He said it would be _easy_ and they start of _slow._ Maybe I should have asked about clear definitions on slow and easy. Because this… was neither slow, nor easy. This was actually close to death. At least that's what it felt like. After what felt 10 miles to me he stopped and looked at me.

"You don't look to good, Babe."

Guess what? I also didn't feel too good. I had a cramp and felt like another step could do me in completely.

"How many miles did I do?" I asked, hoping the answer would make this all better. And stop. Mainly stop, I didn't care about better at this stage.

"One, if I'm generous."

"One?" I almost screamed. That certainly couldn't be right. We had been running for probably an hour.

"We barely made it to Sweet Tooth, Babe," he said and looking around I had to realize he was right. Sweet Tooth – the best sweets shop in Trenton that conveniently was just down the street from my place – was still a few yards away.

This was so not going as I had anticipated. Sure, I wasn't naïve and knew that just by going once I'd not be able to just run a marathon or something similar but I was more out of shape than I had assumed. At this stage I was actually surprised I had been able to keep up with my FTA yesterday for as long as I did. But maybe that was adrenalin, which is supposedly helping you push past your limits.

"Think about Joyce Barnardt and your FTAs. Might make thing a bit easier for you."

"Or it could kill me. Even Joyce Barnardt couldn't be enough of a motivation for me right now," I mumbled and saw him smile.

"How about I buy you a bag of donuts from Tasty Pastry when you manage three miles?"

I was having my moments, but I wasn't that dumb or naïve. The world would end before Ranger ever even thought about buying pastries. It might have felt to me like the end was near, but I was certain that was only me.

"Not even a bathtub filled with Tasty Pastry goods would be worth that torture."

"Come on I make it worth your while, Babe," he said, nudging me softly before taking off again.

"At this stage I don't know anything that you could do, that would make this any better."

When he turned around, jogging backwards, I almost tripped. Seeing Ranger smile never happened. Since he hardly ever smiled. There was this "I'm amused"-almost-there-smile which occasionally made an appearance, but I'd never seen him smile fully. Sure, there was an occasional laughter, or rather a bark of laughter for that matter, but that wasn't the same. _Oh boy, maybe I was in trouble_.

An hour – a torturous hour never the less – I made my way up the stairs to my apartment. Finally! It felt like a week since I left my apartment. Hard to believe it had been just over an hour ago.

I opened her door, kicked it shut with my foot and walked straight to my bed where I fell right into. This was like heaven. The sheets and pillows were my new best friends and I swore I'd never leave them ever again. Screw the FTAs and me not keeping up. Screw Joyce Barnardt. Screw them all.

I barely registered the front door opening and closing. But instead of being alarmed I only snuggled further into my cushion. If Ranger thought he could convince me to go another three miles I'd simply shoot him. I was almost certain my gun in my cookie jar was loaded.

"I think I can't feel my legs," I moaned eventually, but wasn't sure I was heard since I was talking into my pillow.

I heard a chuckle and felt the bed dip. A moment later I felt his hands on my right leg. He pulled it towards him, unlaced my shoe and let it fall to the floor. A moment after that I felt his fingers pressing into my calf and eventually drawing circles. He added pressure for a short moment, just to ease up again and repeat the motions. My calf felt a lot better within moments.

"This actually feels great," I said dumb-folded. "Is this the part where you make it worth my while? Cause I gotta tell you, as nice as this is, you need to work a lot harder to convince me to get out of this bed tomorrow to do the same thing again."

"I'm working on it, Babe," was all he said and that got me curious.

His fingers moved higher, like…thigh-high. But that wasn't what surprised me. The fact that his fingers on my calf had been replaced by what felt like lips was what actually came as a slight shock.

"That's an odd … _technique,_ " I said, feeling him smile against my skin. Seeing that I still hadn't moved, was still pressed face-first into my pillows and made no move really to change what was happening or going on should have said it all.

"Do you want me to stop?" I heard him ask semi-serious. He knew the answer to that question already before he asked.

"If you stop, I'll swear I get that gun from my kitchen and simply shot you. I'll claim it was in self-defense."

I heard him laugh before his fingers dug deep info my thigh, making me maybe shout out in pain for a moment. I can't really remember to be honest. Between his lips on my calf, making me feel all tingly and him applying pressure on what I assumed used to be where I had a cramp earlier, my brain was confused. I had a feeling he did this somewhat on purpose.

I felt myself relax, complexly and sank further into the cushions. The further I sunk the higher his fingers travelled on my thigh. Things were definitely getting interesting.

And then it …stopped. All of it. His hands and lips where gone and I felt him get up.

"What?" I almost screamed in confusion, turning around and facing him. "You can't just… stop."

"I need something to keep you motivated to get up at 5 am again tomorrow morning."

"Are you kidding me? Like…. for real, are you kidding me?"

"Can we just …I don't know, skip the legs and move on to the good stuff?" I asked and yeah I was aware I sounded desperate.

"Sure, when you manage to run ten," he said, smiling again.

"Minutes?" I asked. That was ok, I could manage ten minutes. Well, I at least thought I could.

"Miles," he just said and I might have frozen for a moment. Did he just say ten miles? Miles? I was hardly able to run three miles without dying. Ten would be my definite death.

"That sounds like a lot of work," I said, seeing him shrug for a moment.

"Think of it as incentive, Babe."

"I can't run ten miles," I exclaimed. To be honest, when I agreed to this, it wasn't even my intention to run ten miles. I wanted to get in better shape, wanted to be able to keep up with my FTAs and Joyce Barnardt if the situation ever arose again. I was pretty certain not even my FTAs or Joyce for that matter could run ten miles. So, why should I?

"Then we won't skip to the _good stuff_."

"Will we get to the good stuff?" I asked hopefully. I really hoped his answer would not somehow include _10 miles_.

"Eventually."

"Will I have to run ten miles to get to the good stuff?"

"Only if you want to skip over everything that's in-between," he said, laughing.

 _Oh boy._ That sounded promising.

A second later Ranger turned around and made his way towards my door. I heard it close shut a moment later and knew I'd be seeing him soon enough again.

I couldn't decide whether to like his form of motivation or hate it. One thing was for sure, he knew how to play me. But then again, that was not really a surprise. Right from when we first met he knew how to push my buttons and strangely enough, I usually pushed right back. Just not with the same kind of effect.

Maybe Ranger was right. Maybe it was all in the motivation and incentive. And maybe I would just surprise the two of us altogether and make that ten miles and _skip to the good stuff_.

Maybe.

Or maybe I should just be patient, do what he asks me to do and get there eventually.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

 ***-*-*-*-*-*-*-* THE END - for now at least *-*-*-*-*-*-*-***


End file.
